


The Book Signing

by missm0neypenny



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bookstores, F/M, Hotel Sex, Implied Sexual Content, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm0neypenny/pseuds/missm0neypenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I knew this was why I had come to the bookstore, knew this was why I had worn the dress I put on this morning, knew this was what I had anticipated all day, but I was still unprepared for the electricity that sparked between us. Still. After all these years."</p>
<p>Written in response to the LJ rennerobsession Pic-Fic Challenge from 3/14/14. This is a work of fiction inspired by a photograph. The characters are fictional and not based on any real people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Book Signing

Thanks to the weather, traffic was a bitch so I got to the bookstore late and missed the beginning of his reading. He didn't notice me in the crowd until I drew his attention during the Q&A. 

“Professor, your writing is overtly sensual, which is somewhat unusual among your fellow male contemporaries. From where do you take your inspiration?” 

The audience tittered, the fangirls in the front rows vibrating with excitement. They were so busy nudging each other in giddiness they failed to notice his sudden shift in demeanor when he saw the woman asking the question. The way his fingers tensed around the arms of his chair. How he actually squirmed in his seat. 

“Ah...I take...that is....” He stammered a moment and then recovered. “Inspiration is all around us, every day. I merely try to observe the smallest details. If my contemporaries are failing to do the same thing, well...that's their loss, isn't it?” 

It was, as usual, the perfect answer. He had the crowd eating out of his hand. They lined up by the dozens to have their copies of his books signed. I browsed the rest of the store while he signed his name again and again. I joined the end of the queue and was the last to slide my book in front of him. 

Without signing my copy, he capped his pen and sat back, gazing up at me. “I wasn't sure if you'd come. I didn't want to assume....just because I was in your town...that you'd...” 

“I'd never miss a reading by my favorite author.” I knew this was why I had come to the bookstore, knew this was why I had worn the dress I put on this morning, knew this was what I had anticipated all day, but I was still unprepared for the electricity that sparked between us. Still. After all these years.

“Can I buy a former student a drink?” he asked. Hopeful. Confident. 

“No.” His face fell. “But you can take me back to your hotel.” 

We scurried the few blocks through the snow showers, he hand large and warm on my back, just below the cinch of my raincoat. 

Standing close in the elevator, I studied the tiny raindrops that gilded his hair.

At the door to his room, he fumbled the key card, anxious to have me inside, to have me undone, to have me.

In the morning, amid our scattered clothes, tumbled sheets, and the remains of room service coffee, he signed my copy of his book, scrawling his autograph not on the title page but on the dedication. Under my nickname.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate comments and helpful feedback!


End file.
